


The Shade

by alias2335



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Families of Choice, Gen, Minor Character Death, Secret Identity, grey morality
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21914614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alias2335/pseuds/alias2335
Summary: On his tenth birthday, Harry Potter received his first gift ever at Privet Drive; a black leather bound journal. It was not new; T.M. Riddle written on the cover, and though none of the pages were used, they were all yellow with age. The package it had come in had a note. It said: Happy Birthday Harry Potter. I hope you enjoy this gift. No signature.Much to Harry’s resentment, Dudley took the present away from him soon after; not because he wanted it for himself, more because he didn’t want Harry having anything of his own.Less than 6 months later, Dudley Dursley was dead.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

Aunt Petunia’s funeral had less people in attendance than Dudley’s. Somehow, this made it even more depressing. The service was nice- it lasted from 9 to 12 and no one cried except for Uncle Vernon. Harry got the impression that none of the people attending had particularly _liked_ Aunt Petunia, which was sad on a whole different level. 

Petunia Dursley herself lay cold and dead in her open casket, exquisitely dressed- the same dark dress she had worn for Dudley’s funeral, pearls on her ears and neck. Harry had always heard that the dead looked like they where sleeping, but his aunt certainly did _not_. 

Her face was white and sunken, a look that she had already carried several days before her demise. Yet now it was somehow worse - Her thin skin seemed almost blue beneath the concealing makeup, and her expression was slack in a way that it had never been in life. 

All in all, she looked unnatural, something _missing_ from her, not only obviously _dead_ but almost as if her very essence had been sucked out of her. Harry avoided looking at the open coffin as much as he could, and he was suddenly glad that Dudley’s had been closed for _his_ funereal. 

It was because he had been looking anywhere but at the open coffin, that Harry noticed him. 

He was a young man, tall, dark blonde hair and pale eyes, with sharp cheekbones and thin eyebrows. He wore black dress pants, and a grey pea coat. Elegant and somber, yet he didn't have the look of a mourner. He sat, alone, on the second to last row of the church benches. His expression remained blank - neither faking sympathy nor demonstrating impatience during the ceremony. He was too young to be a friend of Aunt Petunia’s- not that he looked the type to be friends with her. He couldn’t be a relative, all of Aunt Petunia’s blood relatives with the exception of Harry himself where already dead. 

Once the service was done, most everyone had walked up to Uncle Vernon to offer their condolences. Not the boy. He had followed sedately to the burial site, apart from the main procession, never interacting with anyone else. 

When it began to rain, people started to trickle away, some making quick excuses to Uncle Vernon, but most simply taking out raincoats and umbrella’s and turning away. Harry lost sight of the boy amongst the disappearing shapes of the attendees. Aunt Marge was the last to leave - because Uncle Vernon was unable to drive at the moment, he and Harry had arrived with her. She lumbered over to her brother and hugged him, before excusing herself as well. 

Soon enough, the only ones still at the graveyard where Uncle Vernon and Harry. Hesitantly, silently, Harry approached his uncle. Vernon Dursley had at some point fallen to his knees in front of the gravestone and begun to sob. 

Awkwardly, Harry stood besides him, fidgeting and reluctant to really think that both Dudley and Aunt Petunia where dead. Dead, and gone forever. Which meant, amongst so many other things, that Harry no longer had any blood relatives. It also meant, and Harry had guiltily been thinking about it for a while now- that Uncle Vernon would be unable, and probably unwilling, to continue custody of his nephew any longer. 

Which left him….well. Harry wasn’t sure where that left him. 

Uncle Vernon’s voice interrupted his thoughts. 

“Boy”, he said, in a nasal, tired voice. Harry unconsciously straightened. 

“Yes Uncle Vernon?” he asked, and inwardly kicked himself because his voice trembled. 

Uncle Vernon stared at him, an expression of desolation on his face. He stared at Harry, and Harry tried not to fidget, tried not to look away. Eventually, Uncle Vernon’s eyes fell back to the ground. He sighed, and reached into his pocket and extracted a wad of bills. He didn’t even count, just extended them out to Harry. 

He’d never given Harry money before. 

Harry reached for it, expecting his uncle to at any moment pull back. But he didn’t of course. As soon as Harry’s small hand touched the notes, Vernon’s arm dropped back to his side. He spoke once more. 

“Use the money to hail a cab and go home. Go over to Ms. Figg’s house, I called her earlier; she's expecting you. Give her the money, stay with her and don’t wait up for me. I’ll… I’ll probably stay with Marge for now. I… I can’t go back to Surrey. Not right now.” His voice broke, and tears began to fall down his face once more, yet still he continued talking,

“We’ll talk about the future later. For now… I need some time alone, so just… just leave."

Harry did that. As he left the cemetery, detachedly he noticed that this was the most civil Uncle Vernon had ever been with him. He looked back, once. Uncle Vernon had his head in his hands, his entire body shook with repressed sobs and his suit was drenched in rain and mud. He looked smaller, somehow. 

It was the last time Harry saw his uncle. 

\- - -

He did in fact hail a cab and get back to Privet Drive without much trouble. The emergency key to the house was in the toolshed, so he fetched that. Mentally and physically exhausted, Harry walked around the house, intending to enter through the kitchen porch. It was not yet 2 in the afternoon, but the rain, which had stopped at some point during the cab ride, had left behind dark clouds. 

The boy from before was leaning against the door. Though he didn't appear to be so much a _boy_ so close at hand.

“Hello” said Harry uncertainly, “You where at the funeral... Did you know my aunt?"

The stranger shrugged. “Not very well I’m afraid” he said. 

“Were you her friend?” Harry asked, even more skeptically. The teen grinned. Sharp and quick, Harry glimpsed white teeth.

“Oh no," he said, a slightly mocking tone in his voice that Harry would later come to know as irony, "I was her son. My name is Tom, and you are Harry Potter. Care to invite me in for some tea?"


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

Dudley's Diary:

_I’m riting in this diary because Harry is watching and it makes him angry. If he tries to hit me or skreams at me for taking his present, Daddy wil lock him in the cupbord. I wil hit him as well. The diary is Harrys first ever birthday present so I took it away. I hope he cries. Mayby I wil tear out all the pages of the diary infront of him or burn it. Now Harry has gone into his cupbord all by himself. Thats not fun at all._

_\---_

_I am bothering Harry by riting in the diary infront of him again. He looks angry. I always say I love the diary infront of him to make him angry or sad but he never cries. I think a diary has to be the stupidest birthday present ever. Its not even new. Its old and is says TMV on the cover. I think that is the name of the original ouner. Dudley Dursley is much beter. Also, what kind of person puts their initials on a book and never rites in it? Strange._

\--- 

_THIS DIARY BELONGS TO DUDLEY DURSLEY NOT HARRY POTTER. SUCK IT._

_\---_

_[a page of scribbles. Full of lewd drawings and insults.]_

* * *

At the same time that Harry and Tom entered number 4, a discussion was taking place at Arabella Figg's house, down the block. 

"This has all been quite unexpected. I am afraid I had not planned for something like this to happen.” said Dumbledore. 

Professor Snape, who had accompanied the headmaster to Surrey, snorted loudly. 

“Yes well, sickness, death and suicide are always difficult to predict, especially when one isn’t close to the deceased. I imagine this sidetracks your plans for the boy quite a bit." He said, his voice laced with contempt. 

Dumbledore frowned. 

“Do not make light of the situation Severus. He can’t stay here. Without Petunia or Dudley the wards are broken, and you know Harry must arrive at the wizarding world innocent and good. These tragic events are sure to impact his young mind, and I can’t begin to imagine how...I don’t suppose… would you be willing to take Harry in until the start of term? I’ll figure something out later, but he must be with someone I trust implicitly."

“Absolutely not-" replied Snape, "I can already imagine how like his father the boy will be, arrogant and self-obsessed-"

Dumbledore sighed. 

“It saddens me that you hold onto old grudges so strongly Severus. Never mind. It will have to be Hagrid then-"

He was interrupted by a shrill scream from the kitchen. Both men stood up quickly, their wands already drawn before entering the other room. Not noticing an immediate threat, Dumbledore lowered his wand and approached the shaking woman standing by the sink, though Snape remained suspicious. 

"My dear Arabella, what's happened?" he asked. 

"Oh! Dumbledore. So sorry. It's stupid really. There was a snake on my windowsill, and I'm deathly afraid of the things. I've never seen one in the neighborhood, but what can you expect, vermin can show up at any given minute... I'm so sorry sir, to have disturbed you."

Dumbledore smiled. "It is no problem at all. But since we are here, I might as well ask. At what time do you think Harry will be by?"

"Soon I expect." Said Ms. Figg, "When I spoke to Vernon he said the ceremony was to be held at midday... Considering the weather, he might have waited until the rain stopped to head home. Or he might have gone straight home before coming here. I still think it was a mistake not to go to the funeral Dumbledore. I don't like the idea of children traveling on their own. Even though the cementary is close by." 

Dumbledore hummed. 

“Vernon Dursley dislikes being reminded of the magical world. And on a day such as this I thought it would be unjustly cruel to remind him of it. It is my understanding that Harry has some measure of mobile independence; you’ve told me yourself he frequents the library by bus.”

All three waited for the better part of an hour before Ms. Figg, who constantly got up from her couch to look out the window up the street finally spotted her charge. 

“Oh! There he comes,” she said, “Strange, there’s someone with him, I don’t know him.”

Dumbledore moved to stand by Ms.Figg. The two figures slowly approaching where having a conversation. It was always best to be on top of things, thought Dumbledore, before taking his wand out, pointing it at the two boys and casting, “ _Agudo_ ”, a hearing spell. 

_“-don’t think it will be that bad. In any case, the orphanage I was at doesn’t exist anymore, so any additional information is simply speculation. You have my address, you can write me at any time if you want to. It would be nice to have family write for once.”_

Dumbledore frowned at Snape, who had also stood up at hearing the boy’s words. 

“A relative of Vernon Dursley?” speculated Snape. 

_“Well, I’d like that…”_ said Harry now close enough that it was clear he had changed out of his funeral clothes and into his normal baggy t-shirt and jeans. _“I wouldn’t like to impose though… you’ve only just met me…”_

_The other boy laughed._ _“Please Harry, you’d be doing me just as much a favor as I you. It can get lonely at the College, and if you are not opposed I could go visit you… my mother might have treated us both poorly in different ways, but in the end, I much prefer to have at the very least one cousin than no family at all.”_

_“I think I might like that as well,” said Harry softly._

“Petunia’s child?” said Snape in wonder. “Did you know of this Headmaster?”

Dumbledore frowned. “No, Severus, and though young Harry seems to believe him we will have to confirm this stranger’s story… he could be a fraud, possibly even a spy from Voldemort.”

Both young men had arrived at Ms. Figg’s porch. 

“Thank you for accompanying me Tom. I guess this is goodbye.”

Before the other could respond, Dumbledore took the initiative, cancelled the agudo spell and opened the door. Ms. Figg made a noise of dissatisfaction - but kept quiet besides that. 

“Hello Harry”, said Dumbledore, a twinkly in his eye and his kindest smile in place. “It’s so nice to see you once more. Please, we’ve been expecting you…” 

As if surprised, he looked at the other boy, tall, thin faced… he didn’t really look like Petunia Dursley, and worse of all, his eyes were fixed on Dumbledore’s robes, not his face. 

“And you young man? Who would you be?”

“No one of importance I’m sure. Goodbye Harry, until next time then. Good day to you all.” And with a wave he turned around and walked away. 

Inwardly, Dumbledore frowned. A mystery for another day. 


	3. Chapter 3

Dudley's Diary: 

_Mummy says its good that I am riting, because the doctor we went to see the other day said I sould find a way to expres myself without getting angrey._

_I’m angry today because Gertrude Quinn laffed at me with her friends at the park today._

* * *

_Today I ate bacon and eggs for breakfast with chocolate milk and juice. Then I ate some buiscuts and played a while on the computer. Mother seems to be cooking something that smels really good. Maybe pork._

_I wonder were harry is._

* * *

_I brout the diary with me to Piers house today. I dont know why._

* * *

_I am SO angry with Daddy. He bougt me a new shirt today with Sonic the Hedghog on it but I SPECIFICLY TOLD HIM I WANTED ONE WITH KNUCKLES! Its not so dificult. Im giving the shirt to Harry because I HATE IT. [tearstains mark the page]_

* * *

_Im so bored today. Theres nothing good on TV and its raining outside._

* * *

_Harry did something weird again and Mummy and Daddy got very angry with him and now hes locked in the cupbord with no dinner. I dont understant why they get so scared when he does stuf. Once mummy cut his horrible hair weird and it grew rigt back the next day as if nothing hapened. She almost had a hert atack, but I wish I could grow my hair back when I dont like my haircut._

* * *

Tom Riddle walked for 20 minutes before picking up the grass snake that has been on Arabella Figg's windowsill. 

It had been snooping around the neighborhood for any signs of magic aside from Harry himself- and he’d not been disappointed with the information collected. 

He allowed his appearance to change - his hair turned from dusty blonde to shiny black. His eyes from dull to brilliant blue. His nose changed its shape, and his neck thickened slightly. 

It was amazing magic, to be able to take on the features of the victim of the horocrux. He’d copied the idea after seeing a metamorphagus in action- after all, there was no doubt in his mind that it would be useful at some point to be able to change one’s features without the aid of a potion. If he wanted to, he could turn into an exact replica of Dudley Dursley. Not that he’d ever do that, of course.

Just enough changes to keep Dumbledore and whoever else could possibly recognize him at this point from discovering, or even suspecting, his true identity. 

Tom allowed himself a satisfied smile. He’d played his cards well. Harry was hopefull and trusting, confused yet happy to have family interested in him. 

Dumbledore was now aware of his existence - Tom had no doubt that the old control freak would take any opportunity to find out not only if his story was legitimate - which it was not, but close enough to confuse anyone looking into it - and then how he can be used. 

Which suited Tom perfectly. The second the old man thought he could use Tom as a pawn to be played… that’s when Tom would get ahead. 

. . . 

He apparated back to his apartment in Oxford. It was not only his, tragically, but a muggle dorm room for students at the college. 

Not the most glamorous of accommodations, but a perfect place to go unnoticed. He’d used confounding charms and the Imperius on all the other boys on his floor, so that if asked, they would all assert that Tom was an excellent student, a great friend, and that he’d been present at Oxford since the last quarter. 

He’d used an Imperius on one of the administrative workers as well, and was actually signed up to certain classes, should anyone try to verify his whereabouts in that way. 

Oh, it was so good to be able to use magic again. 

After Dudley had died, he’d managed to rob a wand pretty quickly. It was a poor fit to his magic, and even worse, after his first spell, he’d received a letter that warned him from using underage magic again from the Ministry. 

He’d been reduced to basically a squib while he gathered information on… well, everything. 

Almost 50 years had passed since that fateful day when he’d been created, and Dudley, the “owner” of the diary knew little to nothing of the subjects that interested Tom. Nothing on magic, current history... at least he'd relayed that the war that had plagued the world when the diary had been created was long done. 

Tom had needed to know. Had his true self died? Why had he ended up in the hands of Harry Potter, however briefly? Who had put him there? 

Who _was_ Harry Potter?

But it was now January, his 17th birthday had come and gone, he’d found a relatively comfortable place to gather information, resources and most importantly _power_ … and it was still almost an entire year before Harry Potter began classes at Hogwarts and he could send the diary back to it’s rightful home to consume another victim. 

It had never been Tom's plan to absorb the life-force of a muggle. That had never come into his calculations. The horocrux’s purpose was to draw both the life-force and _magic_ from the body that wrote in it, but since Dudley had no magic, Tom was weaker than he’d expected to be. 

This shouldn't have been a problem because he knew he had been entrusted to a wizard family...and yet. 

It no longer mattered. After his little visit to Surrey that afternoon, he'd all but assured himself that answers would now come looking for _him_. 


End file.
